


The Date

by Ruby_Wednesday



Series: The Incident (Single Dad Modern AU) [2]
Category: Captive Prince
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Parents, Awkward Dates, Fluff, Gen, Kids, M/M, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wednesday/pseuds/Ruby_Wednesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurent goes on a date with Damen. It doesn't quite go to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Date

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hadn't really planned on writing more than the one-shot but here we are. I was blown away by the response to The Incident and wanted to expand on a couple of things. this is a bit more melancholy than the first part because Laurent gives me those vibes. Also, there is some mature content and brief non-graphic discussion of abuse. 
> 
> (but i think it's still fun?)

Damen kissed him in the kitchen. Damen sent him multiple emails varying from casual to downright old-fashioned wooing until he confirmed this date. Damen left a bright yellow bouquet made of rolled up rubber gloves on his porch. Damen was the kindest hot guy he had ever met (they were usually one or the other.)

Of course Laurent had thought of it – how the night would go. He hadn't imagined specifics. That would have meant letting his guard down. But there had been something lovely about the anticipation and the prospect of adult conversation with someone who was actually interested in what Laurent had to say. He had indulged the butterflies in his stomach; he had nearly chased them imagining the heart-stopping looks and brushes of skin and the dormant boldness that Damen had tapped into that day in the kitchen.

Laurent had not thought the night would end up consisting of  
-sitting in a casual dining establishment that played Garth Brooks exclusively  
-beside Nicaise, who was wearing silver lipstick  
-diagonal from Hallie and her five dolls Toast the Knowing, Capable, Cheedo the Fragile, The Dag and the Splendid Angharrad  
-getting teased by Don, the owner of the restaurant, over his 'girly' menu choices  
-while Damen partook in something called the Chicken Wing Challenge  
-and the infamous Nikandros sat at the end of the table the way secret service agents sat with the Obamas.

It was not the stuff dreams were made of.

But it was Laurent's fault. He should not have gotten caught up in fantasy. He should not have allowed himself to be drawn into Damen's plans. But Damen was so persuasive and authoritative that Laurent said yes, maybe Nicaise would like to sleepover with Hallie when he knew fine well Nicaise barely liked sleeping in his own bed. Laurent said, yes those are very impressive life-saving qualifications Nikandros has and that is a neat album of him and Hallie doing fun stuff. Nicaise would like to do those fun things, too. 

Laurent was wrong. Nicaise was quiet the entire drive over to Damen's apartment (which was eerily similar to Fort Knox in terms of security.) His lip was trembling in the elevator. He was shaking and refusing to come out from behind Laurent's leg when Hallie tried to show him her new bug hunting kit. 

He broke down when Laurent asked was he all right, knowing with sinking dread in his chest that Nicaise was not all right.

And Damen had said, “It's cool. Let's take a raincheck. We'll all go to Don's for ribs and wings instead.”

So here they were. Ferried over in Nikandros's beast of a car which was wide enough for Laurent to sit in between the car seats. Seated in a long table right in the centre of a the restaurant where everyone greeted Damen by name. Hallie and Nicaise were conducting an enthusiastic conversation about millipedes (which had been preceded by a re-enactment of the first chase scene in Mad Max: Fury Road.) Nikandros was looking at his phone.

Damen was asking Laurent about his day.

But Laurent had spent the day getting ready and he couldn't quite tell him that. 

“Fine.” Then he remembered, a beat too late, he should ask a question. “How was yours?”  
This was excruciating. 

“We went swimming this morning,” Damen said. “Hallie's getting really good now.”

“I splash so much, Daddy,” she interrupted.

“I splash in the bath,” Nicaise said. “Mostly on purpose.”

This was the complete opposite of romantic.

“Eat up or I'll have Don replace those nuggets with grilled fish,” Damen said to the kids. Laurent picked at his salad. His stomach was too knotted to try anything else. He'd already endured a grilling from the owner and a frankly rude comment about his and Damen's, um, potential sexual dynamics when Damen ordered hot wings and Laurent chose salad.“How's the salad?”

“Wilted,” Laurent said, at the exact moment the restaurant owner arrived over with some complimentary drinks. Don basically snorted at Laurent. A tomato lodged in Laurent's throat.

“Try my newest creation,” he said, and it sounded like a threat. “Whiskey. Ginger. A little bit of lime and pepper.” That sounded like a marinade. 

“Cool,” said Damen and drank down the contents of the highball in one gulp. “Here,” he handed one to Laurent.

Laurent didn't really drink. Especially not around Nicaise. But he wasn't about to give anyone any more ammunition against him. And maybe it would help him relax. He wasn't very good at relaxing. 

“Cheers,” said Laurent and clinked glasses with Damen, who had taken the drink meant for Nikandros. Damen held his gaze and Laurent wilted. He was so lost in Damen's eyes that the burn of the drink hardly registered in this throat. It was tolerable. Like, it burned like hell but Laurent was good at hiding his reactions.

Don seemed to have forgiven his earlier slight, and he clapped Laurent on the shoulder as he wove through the tables to intimidate some other guests.

Laurent took another drink, because he didn't want to look as if he was only putting on a show. Damen put more ketchup on Hallie's plate without her even asking, just because he saw she was running low. He listened attentively while she told him more facts about millipedes. Laurent wondered how this night had come to be. 

He had spent years hating the fact of Damianos. He hated that Damen existed and his family existed and the way they lived their lives had royally fucked shit up for Laurent's family. All of Auguste's money, gone. Their parents, gone. Auguste, devastated and angry and then he was gone too. Laurent left behind that year with his uncle.

He caught himself.

He wasn't going to think about that. Damen wasn't the monster from his nightmares. He was decent, hard-working man currently showing Nicaise pictures of exotic insects that he had seen on his travels.  


“Hang on,” Nicaise said. “You touched that in real life?”

“Duh, that's his hand.” Hallie pointed at the screen which was indeed a very hairy spider in Damen's large brown hand.

“It could be photo-shopped,” Nicaise replied.

“Well,” said Hallie. “You got me there.”

Laurent didn't know if he should laugh or intervene. 

“It was at an exhibit,” Nikandros added. “It's not like you found it yourself in the Outback, Damen.”

“What's that about Outback?” Don asked, setting down more wet wipes for the kids. Or perhaps for Damen, who was annihilating the Chicken Wing Challenge. 

“In Australia. Don't worry. We would never go to your competitors,” Damen said.

“Did I tell you the burger place across the road is gone gluten free?” Don asked, dawdling behind Laurent again. “Now we're getting requests every day.”

“There just can't be that many coeliacs in the neighbourhood,” Nikandros said.

“They're only stocking vegan protein powder at the gym now,” Damen added. “I have to go all the way to the store to get the vanilla one I like.”

“What does all that mean?” Nicaise whispered to Laurent.

“It's the ancient language of gym-bro,” Laurent whispered back, then remembered whispering was rude. 

“Don't get me wrong,” Nikandros said. “Some of my best friends are vegans. But...it's the entitlement, you know?

Laurent could feel Don looking down at him. And his green salad, dressing on the side.

“Are you one of those faddy eaters?” Don asked him, with all the disdain of someone asking if you were a puppy killer. 

“No,” said Damen. “He bakes and --”

“Thank you, I can speak for myself,” Laurent said. “No, I eat regular food. However, I don't see the issue with people choosing other options.” And he could feel the eyes on him. “Especially, in this business when you can charge more for cheaper items.”

Don clapped him on the shoulder again. “True. True.”

“Your friend is very, um...”

“Boorish,” Nikandros supplied. “But we still like him.”

“Sorry,” Damen said.

“No, I'm sorry.” Laurent looked around the table again. “This is...I should have waited until I had someone we know to mind Nicaise.”

“He's getting to know Nik now,” Damen said. That was true. Nikandros was helping the kids draw bugs on the back of their menus. “You must have grown up here. Do you keep in touch with many poeple?”

Back to normal small talk. 

Laurent sucked at small talk.

“I left when I was fourteen or so,” he said. “I never intended to come back.” He saw Damen react to the statement and he knew that most people would ask why.

“Where have you been then?” Damen asked.

“After...” He drained his glass. Damen waved for two more. “After everything...” But Damen didn't know what everything was. “My mom died,” Laurent said. “Auguste lost the business. Then my dad died. I had live with an uncle for about a year before Auguste was back on his feet. I went to school near his ranch. Then, college. Then I spent a couple of semesters abroad.”

Damen was listening intently. Laurent could feel his the blood rushing to his cheeks. No-one ever paid him that kind of attention, or, rather it was more accurate to say he never revealed enough about himself to get any kind of meaningful attention at all. An admiring look or a loaded comment were as much as he allowed. Shallow, meaningless things.

“Where?” Damen asked. This was how people talked on dates. It was almost as if there weren't three more people at their table. Four, if you counted the waiter dropping more drinks and another basket of wings. “I've travelled a bit myself. Our paths might have crossed.”

“No,” said Laurent. “I'd know if I met you before. I spent some time in Tokyo --”

“In the textile school,” Nicaise piped up.

“What are textiles?” Hallie's eyes went very wide. “Are they like reptiles?”

“It's like what you make clothes with,” Nicaise said.

Hallie looked bitterly disappointed.

“Then some time in Berlin,” Laurent continued, before he lost his nerve. “In a mixed media programme. Then, well, here I am.”

“Here we are,” said Nicaise.

“Um, we're all here,” said Hallie. Nikandros resorted to showing the kids bug videos on his phone. Laurent wondered if he was that good of a friend or if he was getting paid overtime.

“I told you my mom left us money,” Laurent said. “I couldn't access it for anything but education until I was old enough. And my uncle was the trustee, so I had to come here and --”

There was the blue-eyed boy, currently wearing a very cute anchor t-shirt, but who had been wearing nothing but a dirty diaper when Laurent went to the house that day. Then came the postponement of grad school and the chunk gone from his trust fund and the friends he lost because he never met back up with them in Thailand or they didn't understand what he was doing with a random child. One fucker actually asked if Laurent had bought him, like he was Madonna or something.

“Is it weird to say I'm glad you came here?” Damen asked, quietly. 

Laurent felt warm inside, and it was different to the heat that came from embarrassment. Stay guarded, he reminded himself. People will say anything to get you to do what they want.

“Yes,” said Laurent. 

And Damen laughed, deep and rumbling, and Laurent got a little warmer.

“Do you laugh at anything?” Laurent knew he sounded haughty. 

“No. But I will if you get all pouty every time I do.”

“Idiot.” Laurent wasn't pouting now. He was smiling, spontaneously, and trying to look stern. 

Damen glanced towards the kids. “Meanie,” he said, and Laurent got the distinct impression Damen would have liked to call him something worse. People had been calling him a bitch for most of his adult life, and since the word didn't have the same nasty connotations as it did when people used it towards women and since he really didn't care very much what most people thought of him, Laurent shrugged it off. It had more art to it than being called an asshole or whatever. 

“I'll just refer to my previous statement,” Laurent replied, primly, and Damen laughed which set off another cycle of pouting and smiling. 

“Dad,” Nicaise said, and the simple word sent a burst of emotion through Laurent. “Is that what it will be like when we go to Auguste?”

“I don't think you can go to another time of year,” Hallie said. Then, with a contemplative look around the table. “Can you?”

“Auguste is a name, too,” Nicaise said. “Like April in the Ninja Turtles.”

“Mmm. April,” said Nikandros. Meaning Megan Fox. He said it with a look towards Damen, because they probably normally shared such crass appreciation for women together. Then seemed to realise that Damen was on a sham of a date with another man at this very moment, and picked up his phone again.

Beneath the table, Damen's foot came to rest against Laurent's and Laurent only briefly considered if he was dirtying up his Italian loafers. That's how much he liked Damen.

“Auguste is Laurent's brother,” Nicaise continued. “Which makes him my uncle. We're going to his house soon.”

“You're leaving?” Hallie's lip wobbled. 

“Just a vacation,” Damen said. “Right?”

“Right.” Laurent turned towards Nicaise. “Why did you ask that?”

Nicaise pointed at Nikandros. “He's an uncle, right? And he's fun but he could also beat people up. And there's another grown up for you to talk to and smile. So will it be like this when we visit Auguste?”

“Yes,” Laurent said. “Auguste is nice and we will have fun.”

“Because he's a good uncle.”

“Yes.”

“Not like your bad uncle in the old house,” Nicaise said. “I'm glad we never have to see him again.” Then he casually went back to eating his fries. Laurent, on the other hand, felt as if he might get sick. He could see Damen react, a flash of concern on a face made for smiling, and remembered the desperate, lonely way he opened up to him that day at the sink. He could see Nikandros look up then look back down at his phone again, then distantly he heard him ask if the kids had seen pictures of that time he ate crickets. 

(Which did nothing to alleviate the sick churning in Laurent's stomach.)

“I have a bad uncle,” Hallie offered. 

“Kastor isn't bad. He's just...” Damen trailed off, eyes still fixed on Laurent.

“Not to your taste,” suggested Nicaise.

“But Daddy he always wants to scare me and he called you a cat when you left the room at Grandpa's birthday.”

“I like cats.”

“So no-one wants to see cricket stir fry?” Nikandros asked.

Laurent stood, abruptly, letting his napkin hit the floor. “Can you watch Nicaise while I used the restroom?”

In the cool, chemical-scented bathroom Laurent did his very best to compose himself. Those drinks were stronger than he realised. This night was more of an ordeal than he had imagined. It was...difficult to have a child who spoke every word that came to mind. You couldn't lock away your secrets around children. You couldn't pretend to be a normal, easy going person. You couldn't escape your past. 

The reflection of himself in the mirror was a shock. Laurent couldn't see the traces of obvious distress on his face. He just looked like his usual unflappable self. Yet Damen had reacted at the table as if every iota of pain Laurent had ever felt was written there for the world to see. 

The door swung open. 

There was Damen.  
“Thank you but I don't require an attendant,” Laurent said, aiming for aloofness. “Nor will I stay to watch you use the facilities. That's not --”

“I literally just want to wash my hands.”

“Before you --”

“Did you not see me eat all those wings and ribs? Of course, before I pee. Or...that sauce was really spicy, Laurent.” 

Laurent almost laughed. He leaned against one of sinks while Damen washed those big hands, working hands, hands that could make a person feel safe. 

“I'm fine,” he said.

“I didn't ask,” Damen replied. “You wouldn't want me to.”

“No,” said Laurent. “Look, I'm sorry about all of this. I know you have better things to do on a Saturday night than waste time with someone who can't even go on a proper date.”

“You're wrong,” said Damen, as he dried his hands. Laurent wished he was brave enough to take the cheap paper towel and do it for him. “I want to be here.”

“Even after all of that.” 

“Laurent, that was nothing. Kids being kids. Wait until you witness one of Hallie's epic meltdowns and then we'll see who has to be embarrassed.” He stepped closer. The edge of the sink was digging into Laurent's thighs. The alcohol was making his cheeks warm again.

“I think --” He began,

“Don't,” said Damen. Then his still slightly damp hands were cupping Laurent's cheeks and his lick-shined lips were coming closer. Was he really going to kiss Laurent in the men's bathroom at a casual dining establishment?

He was. 

Damen kissed him with tentative tenderness. It could have been a simple gesture, if that's what Laurent wanted. But despite the tension and slight despair still coursing through Laurent's veins, he found he did not want it to be a chaste thing. He wanted good fire, the consuming kind, and for Damen, who was warm and kind and nothing like the demon of a man he'd imagined in his head when their lives were unknowingly intertwined all those years ago, to crawl inside his skin.

(But not in a creepy way.)

Just...Laurent never liked anybody. He never liked to be touched. But here was Damen, tipping his head back slightly and softly kissing his lips, and Laurent wanted it more than anything. The place was wrong. The timing was wrong. Garth fucking Brooks was still wafting in from the dining room.

But the kiss deepened, tongues and teeth, and Laurent gripped so tightly on Damen's arms his own knuckles were white. 

The world shrank away, Laurent wondered if the sink would bear his weight, and then there was a swing of the door and someone was there. Laurent couldn't see. Damen was too large. And then the person was gone and Laurent was ashamed.

The kiss was gone. He pushed Damen away. Jesus. Making out in a men's bathroom. It sounded so seedy. 

“Someone...” he began, and then there was more activity just in the hallway. They were being discussed by more than one person. The smart thing to do would be to rise above it. But Damen took hold of Laurent's wrist and tugged him into the stall. When it dawned on him that two sets of feet were a potential risk, he picked Laurent up off the ground. And not in a sexy way. By his...armpits, as if he was a child. He used the weight of his body to hold Laurent against the wall, when there was a perfectly good toilet right there for perching on. But Laurent couldn't protest. He liked the feeling of those muscles. 

“Hey!” Someone had come into the bathroom. Someone who was trying and failing at sounding authoritative. Laurent had to press his hand to his mouth to hold in the laughing. “No...funny business in here.”

“Pallas. The busboy.” Damen whispered.

“I can hear you.”

“I'm totally alone, dude.” Damen replied. Laurent was in tears. “Hush,” he said.

“In three minutes, I'm sending in Don.” Pallas left. “Jord,” he said, outside the door. “You can use the disabled bathroom.”

Damen put Laurent down. He had the decency to look sheepish, until he saw that Laurent was smiling, and then he grinned back. 

“Someday,” he said. “I'll get you alone.”

And Laurent shivered. “I'll go first,” he said. “Calm yourself.”

“That doesn't help.”

At the table, Nicaise and Hallie were proudly showing off their dessert, which consisted of chocolate cake and gummy worms.

“It's like eating dirt,” Hallie announced. 

“I think we should get the bill,” Laurent said, aware that he was suddenly the talk of the restaurant. There were four people at the servers station looking their way. The chef had let out a low whistle from the open kitchen.

“Damen got it. Don't protest. He and Don have a deal,” Nikandros said. “Are you....did something happen?”

“No.” Flatly.

“Look...Damen likes you. Don't mess him around.”  
“I'm not.” 

“Not what?” Damen asked, sitting back down without a care in the world. “Hit me, Hallie.” And she automatically tossed a gummy worm that he caught expertly in his mouth.

“Hungry for dessert,” Laurent said because Nicaise was watching him curiously. He tugged on Laurent's sleeve. “Yes?”

Nicaise stood on his chair. Laurent was too busy observing the gossip hounds in the corner to reprimand him.

“Dad,” he whispered. “I'm sorry for talking about the thing that makes you do the straight lip face.”

“You didn't do anything wrong,” Laurent replied. The only ones who had behaved inappropriately here were him and Damen. “Are you getting tired?” Nicaise was playing with his hair, which he only did now when he was ready to go sleep. He nodded.

“Let's hit the road.” Damen dropped an extra twenty in Pallas's rubber bin on the way out. Laurent was wiping chocolate and silver lipstick from Nicaise's face when he saw the man who had complained about them come out of the disabled toilet. He recognised him, too, as Jord one of the volunteer coaches from the school.

He decided not to share that fact with Damen, who already had issues with the other parents there.

He couldn't if he wanted to. It was impossible to even look him in the eye. 

Nikandros drove back to Damen's complex, where Laurent had left his car. Except Laurent realised, once the fresh air hit, that those two drinks were indeed very strong and he could not risk driving home especially with Nicaise.

“We're going to walk,” Laurent said, clambering out of the monstrosity of a car. “Is it OK to leave my car here?”

“We can drop you off...” But Damen was gingerly removing a sleeping Hallie from her car seat. Laurent had no intention of getting back into that car with Nikandros. There had been enough awkwardness tonight to last a lifetime.

“I'm perfectly capable of walking four suburban blocks,” Laurent said. And Nicaise was holding his hand. Damen's hands were full of Hallie and Nikandros was there. So they said goodnight, and left.

“Dad, I don't know why you changed our clothes so many times today before we left the house,” Nicaise said. Laurent had eventually settled on anchors for Nicaise and slightly nautical stripes for himself. “Dating is really fun.” Little voices carried on the wind. Laurent knew Damen had heard that, and wasn't that just the icing on the embarrassment cake?

-

Later, after he had wrangled Nicaise into bed (his own bed, not Laurent's which was the kind of minor victory a parent had to take satisfaction in) Laurent was lonely. 

That was new.

He was often alone. He preferred it, generally. He was certainly capable of amusing himself. But after a night of company, he was now aware of the empty feeling of loneliness creeping through his body. Things that normally brought him comfort, like changing into a comfortable pair of vintage running shorts and a cosy cardigan and the tv playing a Scandinavian crime drama instead of the Disney Channel, only made him restless tonight.

He flicked through terrible channels. He refreshed every app on his phone. He was considering opening a very nice bottle of wine that he had in the cupboard in case of guests that never came over when his phone buzzed.

The speed at which he dived on it was another embarrassment to himself. It was a message from Auguste, which ordinarily would have been welcome but tonight was a tad disappointing.

Auguste : _How was the date with my arch-nemesis?_

Laurent wondered if he should be insulted his brother assumed it was already over. He took some cheese from the fridge and crackers (fancy, not goldfish) from the shelves before he replied.

Laurent : _He was my former nemesis, not yours. You are too nice to bear grudges_  
Auguste : _That is true but don't avoid my question_

Laurent opened the wine. He typed and deleted several responses.

He wrote : _Farcical.  
Nicaise refused to stay with babysitter so we brought the kids to some local place. They had chicken nuggets. I had a soggy salad that definitely spent some time under heat lamps._

Auguste : _but other than that? Was he nice? Do you like him? Does he like you? Are you going to see him again?_  
Laurent: _what's with the Spanish Inquisition?_  
Auguste: _Still avoiding, I see_

This was why Laurent didn't get close to people. They saw too much.

But...who else was he meant to talk to? And he had never been shy about sharing with Auguste before. 

He wrote : _Yes. Yes. I hope so. Probably not_  
He kissed me again. Or maybe I kissed him  
in the men's room  
there was a complaint  
I can't ever go back there  
not that I would  
they were playing Garth Brooks  
you know how I feel about cowboy hats

Auguste: _STOP TYPING LET ME RESPOND_  
Laurent: _no_  
Laurent: _skjnaoshmbsohsmnbtkbsoiuamnsbishkabskbr jkahskgas_  
Auguste: _Laurent!_  
Those are all good things. Kinda. Why do you sound so glum?  
Laurent: _a person can't sound like anything over text. Tone is lost._  
Auguste: _that's bullshit._  
Laurent: _I'm no good at this kind of thing. Relationships. People._  
Auguste: _you normally say you're good at everything_  
Laurent: _I have to think of Nicaise_  
...  
...  
...  
Auguste: _Nicaise is not your problem_

The words were a stab, directly in Laurent's heart. Nicaise was most definitely his problem. Jesus, he called him Dad now. Rather than get into a late night war of words with his brother, Laurent threw his phone in the drawer with the corkscrew and ignored the buzzing that came after. Of all people not to understand why Laurent had taken Nicaise on, he thought his brother was different. 

All right, he could accept Auguste's early misgivings. Laurent had been all set to continue his education and a small kid was a lot of responsibility. And Auguste had been afraid Laurent was just opening the window to let their uncle back into their lives. But that was over a year ago. Nicaise was as much family now to Laurent as Auguste. What kind of world would it be if people who could help just washed their hands of anything they could?

Laurent sipped the wine. He watched twenty two minutes of Norwegian brooding and didn't take in a single word. His brain was a mess of images – Damen shyly smiling across a paper-cloth covered table, Nicaise afraid in the elevator, Nicaise terrified in a heavy wet diaper with tied to the bars of a playpen while his uncle...

Laurent stood up and paced around the living room. It was so unlike Auguste to be so callous. He was meant to be the good one. Laurent was the cynical, cold brother. That's how it worked.

A knock on the door that almost made him jump out of skin. Laurent thought it might be Torveld, looking to borrow a corkscrew or something. No-one ever called to his door unannounced.

Cautiously, Laurent opened it. And there was Damen. Again.

“Let me in. Quick,” he demanded.

Laurent stepped back. “Don't wake Nicaise,” he said. “Where's the fire?”

“I just saw my sec – my administrative assistant go into the upstairs apartment with a bottle of wine,” Damen said. As he spoke, held up a paper bag like that meant something.

“I fail to see your point.”

“He's a still in college. I'm the boss,” Damen said. “We're not meant to be doing the same thing.”

“I really doubt it's the same thing.” Laurent knew Torveld's ways well enough. “Now, why are you here?”

“I wanted to see if you got home all right,” Damen said, somewhat sheepishly.

“And if I had not. Were you planning on finding my dead body en route.”

“I text and called first like a normal person. Then I got worried.”  
“Worried. About me.” That was new. “Well, come in. I have wine, if you want a glass. I don't normally drink so I have no idea if it's good.”

“I brought cocktail ingredients,” Damen said.

“Why?”

“You seemed to like what Don made. So I called the restaurant and --” He stopped. “Laurent, are you wearing anything under that cardigan.”

“Shorts,” he said. “Focus. You called them after what happened there?” Laurent thought he might be hearing things. Then he thought maybe that might not have been as unusual for Damen as it had been for him. Some guys were into that. He sank down onto the couch.

“Don and I go way back. It's cool,” Damen said. “So...cocktail?”

“Stop saying cocktail,” Laurent said. “It's hard enough to think straight around you.”

“Wine, then? I remember where you keep your glasses. Wait, is this OK? You ignored me...”

“I put my phone in the drawer. Can you bring it in, too?”

“Why is your phone in the drawer?” Damen sat beside him on the sofa and poured some wine

“My brother was annoying me.” Laurent took the phone. Damen kept looking at the bare length of his legs. He had done that, too, the first time he came over but it was different then when Laurent had been wearing jeans. Laurent was conscious suddenly of the exposed flesh, the milkbottle colour of his skin, the small circumference compared to Damen who most definitely did not skip leg day. 

Laurent wasn't insecure about his physique but, well...Damen.

“They're even shorter sitting down,” Damen said, nearly to himself.

Huffing, Laurent pulled the chunky knit blanket from the back of the sofa onto his lap.

“Were you really going to make cocktails?” 

“Sure. I worked at a Texas Roadhouse during the summer after freshman year of college,” Damen said. “The bartenders showed me the ropes.”

“Why?”

“I wasn't old enough to serve but --”

“Why did you work there?”

“My Dad said I could work for him. I wanted to go out on one of the construction sites. He wanted me in the offices. So I refused and wound up at Texas Roadhouse. It was cool. The cooks had the best weed.”

Laurent smiled. “We should have done this in the first place. The dinner was...”

“A regular dinner with kids,” Damen said. “And I think Nicaise liked Nikandros once he got to know him.”

“He did.” And Laurent finally understood why Damen insisted his friend come along. “So next time, if you want there to be a next time...”

“I turned up at your door late at night,” Damen interrupted. “If anyone else did that, I could consider it a red flag. I would love there to be a next time.”

Laurent said, “I'm not...I find it difficult. Dating.”

“You are doing fine. Dating is fun. Didn't your hear what your son said?”

Son.

Laurent's guard flew back up. “Fun. Measuring a personality against a checklist. Pretending to be someone you're not. Exchanging food and company for sex. It's all so fake. People will say anything ---”

“None of that happened with me. It won't,” Damen said. Laurent, berating himself, believed him. He unlocked his phone. “Cute pic,” Damen said. The background was a selfie of him and Nicaise at the aquarium. 

“It was Nicaise's idea.” 

“Show me the last picture you took.” It was a shot of him and Nicaise before they left tonight. Laurent had sent it to Auguste. “Your whole camera roll is you two.”

“Not quite.” There were plenty of Nicaise alone. And shots that Damen would probably call arty. “Show me yours,” Laurent said. “The picture, I mean.”

“It's the dick pic I was planning on sending you.”

“Shut up.” Laurent grabbed Damen's phone. The picture was...an alley?

“It's a camera blindspot in the new project we're doing in work. I sent it to Nik.”

“You are so boring.” Laurent's phone buzzed again. Another message from Auguste. Hadn't he offended him enough for one night? 

“Don't ignore your family,” Damen said.

Laurent wanted to say, don't tell me what to do. Any other time, any other person, he would have. But Laurent had precious little in the way of family. 

Auguste had written : _Nicaise is not your problem._  
The problem is that you tangle yourself in knots.  
Laurent, you know this.  
Are you there?  
.......  
......  
Laurent?

 

Oh. OK. Laurent had leaped to conclusions. He felt more than a little stupid.

He wrote : _Sorry. Got distracted._  
Damen came over.

“All good?” Damen asked.

“I may have over-reacted,” Laurent said. His last message should smooth things over. Auguste need never know he was mad. And he would not respond. Not after Laurent admitted Damen was here. 

“I, for one, am shocked.” Damen grinned. The phone buzzed. Again. “Your brother is Face Timing you.”

“I am aware.”

“So answer.”

“No, I told him you were here. He should back off.”

“Answer.”

“No.”

“Answer.”

“Oh my God are you always to persistent?” Laurent swiped the phone.

“Yes,” said Damen. “When I want something.” Then, as Laurent was watching Auguste's slightly pixellated face appear on his screen and saying hello, Damen was stretching his arm around the back of the couch and scooting closer so he was in frame too. “Hi,” he boomed, right into Laurent's ear. “I'm Damen. Wait, I know you.”

“Of course you know him,” Laurent said. “You and your --”

“Oh, God.” Auguste rolled his eyes. “Don't start that again, Laurent. Damen was still a teenager then.”

“I don't have social media, so he definitely stalked yours.” Laurent was feverishly aware of the casual closeness of the image of him and Damen and how this was so unlike anything he ever did.

“Presumptuous,” Damen said. “No, Auguste, you helped coach my little league team one summer.”

“You were the pitcher! Man, the strongest twelve year old I ever encountered.”

Laurent was unimpressed. “Auguste, was there something else you wanted?”

“To embarrass you. That's my divine right as an older brother and you have given me barely any opportunities before this.”

“Because I am so naturally graceful.” 

“Also to make sure Damen knows there's no hard feelings.”

“Cool,” said Damen.

“I'm hanging up now,” said Laurent.

And he did. He wasn't the type for goodbyes. 

Damen sat back, relaxed, and he kept his arm stretched out so Laurent felt it at the back of his neck. “He seems nice,” he said.

“If you suddenly Face Timed with someone I would duck and hide. How are you so relaxed?”  
“Wine. Beer. My natural disposition,” Damen said. 

“That must be nice.”

“Mostly,” Damen said. “Can I tell you something?”

“Think about it first. If it will bother me, the answer is no.”

“I had a whole thing planned for tonight,” he said. “Would you like to hear about it?”

“If you wish.” Laurent settled back, close enough to feel the warmth of Damen's body. It was nice. Even thought Damen had already pressed him against the kitchen wall (and also a bathroom stall) a thrill still ran down Laurent's spine to be sitting close enough to see the flecks of gold in his irises.

“There's a really nice Greek restaurant down by the library,” Damen said. “Do you know it?”

“No.”

“Do you like Greek food?”

“I like all good food.”

“So, it's a real hole in the wall place. No reservations. Walk ups only. But they'll send you to the bar two stores down and call you when the table is ready. I had planned to tell them not to call me until the table by the upstairs window was ready,” Damen said. “It's so poky inside that it makes you feel like you're the only people there.”

“It's probably a regular alcove. You're larger than most people.”

“Am I? No-one's ever told me that before.” Damen's arm twitched. Laurent felt it.

“Just do it,” he said.

“What?”

“I swear to God if you pull the yawn trick I will kick you out.”

“Well, if you really want me to.” Damen put his arm around Laurent's shoulders, a loose comforting weight. “This place does the best Greek food on the continent. I figured we could order all mezze. Share everything. Get our hands dirty. I'd like to see you enjoy it.”

Laurent could picture it. Hunger stirred.

“I also figured, you would be particular about splitting the bill,” Damen continued. “So I wouldn't fight you. And after, I'd suggest a walk down by the water. Do you know the bandstand there? Well, once a month a string quartet play this charity gig and it's really chill if you sit on one of the benches by the grass.”

“The hospice.” His voice rang hollow. “That's the charity.” Laurent was struck by an old memory, so deeply buried he might have gone his whole life without recalling it. When his mother was really sick, near the end, that same quartet had played in the lobby outside her room. If someone really loved a song, they'd learn it specially. Sometimes, the person would die before the quartet got a chance to play it. 

Laurent said, “This all sounds very rehearsed. Have you taken lots of dates there?”

“What? No. Actually, I...I walked down there with Kashel's mother the night she came to tell me Kashel wasn't coping. That she wanted me to take the baby.”

“Oh,” said Laurent. “Sorry. I'm just...I told you I’m not good at dating. I'm worse at opening up and...that crack Auguste made and --”

“It's all right.”

“Was it difficult, taking Hallie?”

“Yes. And no,” Damen said. “I wanted to. I...I begged Kashel to keep the pregnancy when she found out. I felt so guilty when she was struggling. Anyway, women do it alone all the time and no-one pats them on the back.”

“No wonder all the school moms love you, memes and all,” Laurent said.

“What about the dads?” The tone in Damen's voice shifted, like solid melting into liquid. “Or is that your forte?”

“All of them? I don't have a harem of frustrated husbands, you know.” 

“Good,” said Damen. “I don't want to get in any schoolyard fights. And I would, you know?”

“What?” Laurent felt himself leaning into the words. 

“Fight for you.” He smiled. “I mean, I've already gotten stabbed.” He set down his wine glass. He peeled Laurent's fingers from the stem of his glass and left it down on a twin coaster. Distantly, Laurent recognised a pattern. The closeness of their faces paired with the slow, deliberate way Damen moved as if he was giving Laurent every opportunity to squirm out of reach. Any other time, Laurent would question what it was about himself that radiated the need to be treated like a spooked horse. But now, with his head swimming, he luxuriated in sweet anticipation.

His face was warm. His blood was simmering. Damen's warm gaze was nearly too much for him, yet the thought of looking away was too much as well.

“Would you have done this, on that bench by the water?” Laurent asked, though it was like hearing the words from another place. He meant, would you want me in public, would you walk by my side.

“Yes,” said Damen. 

And kissed him.

This time, kissing was different – unhurried, tinged with rich red wine and the phantom taste of food they had not eaten. Damen's lips were soft, undemanding, and his face was rough with evening stubble. Laurent enjoyed that contrast almost as much as he enjoyed the sensation of Damen's mouth against his. Normally, he would have felt like he was drowning. But here, with Damen's gentle kisses and Damen's strong hands cupping his head, Laurent felt like he was easily treading still waters.

He met every kiss, responded to every brush of their bodies, and took the opportunity to trace the contours of Damen's solid chest until his hands rested on his shoulders. Laurent felt like he was clinging on, somehow, and Damen was keeping him afloat with the steady pressure of his mouth and teasing flicks of his tongue and the tangling of his fingers in Laurent's hair.

In increments, the kiss deepened. There was no way to pinpoint times and places. There was no aggressor. Laurent hardly noticed when Damen pressed on his lower back to hold his body against his. He didn't blink, let alone flinch, when Damen's hands wandered up his shirt. The natural stirring under his (short) shorts wasn't embarrassing. He had Damen's lips all over his neck and Damen was whispering little flatteries into his ear and it was all the loveliest blur.

He felt the blast of air when Damen shoved the bunched blanket out of the way. He waited for a crude remark, except all Damen did was run his hands over Laurent's thighs. Up, up, until it was higher than thighs he was touching.

Laurent did not react verbally. But his heart felt like it would beat right out of his chest when Damen's hand touched him through the fabric. Damen asked a question with his eyes and Laurent assented with a nod and a kiss that was way more authoritative than anything else they shared. He shut his eyes and Damen touched with a sure rhythm and he wanted to kiss Damen more, but he couldn't because Damen had suddenly gone to his knees.

The intent was there. It didn't need to be said. And Laurent thought of saying that he was not into that, if Damen wanted it back, but didn't. He thought with Damen, he wouldn't to say it. He would know. 

“You --” Laurent began, but the words trailed away when Damen lifted his ass off the couch and tugged his shorts down. There he was exposed, wanting, and all he had done to Damen was unbutton the first button of his shirt. (That had felt bold, at the time.)

“Yes?” Damen said, as he dropped a kiss on Laurent's knee. He took his fuzzy socks off next. Laurent's cardigan was pushed down to his elbows, limiting his movement. 

“Damen --” He tried again. The thought was there – that a man like Damen shouldn't be on his knees. The thought was wrong, by the fact that Damen had initiated this and that it was a dated, damaged idea that Laurent didn't want to entertain. 

“Yes,” Damen said, again, but the tone was different. He was mouthing a damp path up Laurent's spread thighs. It was almost like he was saying to himself. He stopped, just before, and met Laurent's eyes again. The heat there travelled, consumed. “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” Laurent said. And then Damen's mouth was on him, kissing, moving, tonguing, and Laurent was restrained in himself (and by the fact of his tangled cardigan) but he was wild, too. Because Damen was .... enthusiastic. He was either a very good actor, which couldn't be true on account of that open face, or he liked this. He liked bringing Laurent this pleasure. He was good at it. So good, with those lips that were pouting now and the firm hold of his hands on Laurent's hips, and the unrelenting sensation and the way his head was bowed. It was all too much, and Laurent couldn't hold on and he gasped a warning and Damen was pulling away, using his hand, and then the streak of white against himself.

He was beyond words. He wished he was quick enough to think of something clever to say about that smug look on Damen's face that was maybe more pleased than smug. But he wasn't beyond movement. He wriggled his arms free and hauled Damen up against him.

“Damen,” he said. “I...that...”

“Kiss me,” Damen said, husky, close, with those lips that had brought such pleasure to Laurent. How could he not comply?

Except he was still himself.

“Who knows where that mouth has been?” Laurent said, with a sly smile, and then he was pushed onto his back with Damen lying on top of him. Damen looked down. Laurent raised his chin and kissed him, hard. He let his hands do what they were to shy to do earlier, and unbuttoned Damen's shirt. He kept kissing, and unbuckled his jeans and without looking, felt the hard heavy weight of him against his palm.

Damen cursed at the touch and Laurent laughed, nearly giddy, then reminded him to be quiet. Damen bit his lip when Laurent started to explore, testing what made Damen buck his hips and what made him kiss bruise-hard. He knew what to do, but it was still fun to experiment with a squeeze of his fingers or a swipe of his thumb. Damen held himself up, his elbows either side of Laurent, and Laurent would have expected it to feel like a cage but it was safe and secure. 

It was all the furtive fumbling Laurent missed out in his youth, except he didn't really miss anything, because he didn't think anything then would have compared to this. Damen expressed himself easily, unguardedly, and Laurent found freedom in that as he kissed this wonderful man and steadily, surely, brought him over the edge.

Damen came with a muffled stream of words and burst of heat caught between them before promptly collapsing on top of Laurent.

He mumbled something.

“Speak up,” Laurent said.

“You told me to be quiet.”

“I would still like to be able to hear you.”

Damen lifted his head from the crook of Laurent's neck. “You're amazing,” he said. “I've never met --”

“No. Get back down,” Laurent said. “I told you I'm no good at dating. Don't make me search for a respond when my mind is still blissed out from --”

“That's fine. I'll take that response.” Damen pushed himself up all together. “I didn't come here for that,” he said. “I mean, I don't want you to think that --”

“I don't,” Laurent said, surprising himself with the truth of it. He brushed a sweat-damp curl away from Damen's forehead and felt there was nothing more to say.

“I should --” An indication to the, ah, side-effects. Damen grabbed one of the socks that had been cast aside and did a hasty clean up. Laurent didn't even comment on the fact they were cashmere bed socks that cost over fifty dollars a pair. 

“I really do like you,” he said. 

“Um, use the bathroom in my room,” Laurent said. “First door on the left. The pipes down the hall rattle like crazy.” The last thing he needed was to wake Nicaise. It would have been too much to use the same bathroom, so Laurent pulled his shorts back and washed his hands at the sink.

He had stretched his bravery to his limits. Even as he walked down the hall, fantasizing about mirroring Damen's earlier actions the day in the kitchen, he knew he wasn't brave enough to take a towel and dry his hands. Instead, he busied himself putting away some of the clothes he had chosen and discarded earlier. 

“Making sure I didn't steal anything?” Damen asked, warmly, when he walked shirtless out of the bathroom. Laurent didn't know why the sight was so arresting. Damen had been shirtless going in, too. But it was different with the light on, and all those muscles on show and just to torment Laurent further there were even a few droplets of water caught on his chest.

“I don't think this would fit you.” Laurent hung up Nicaise's blue chambray shirt in the closet. The things they had that co-ordinated, Laurent liked to keep together. 

“You have a lot of clothes.” Damen idly ran his hands along the rails. 

“I like them. It doesn't mean anything.” 

“All right.”

“It's all right to like nice things. To appreciate craftsmanship and design and soft fabrics and sharp tailoring and --”

“I have three work suits, one nice suit, and few pairs of jeans,” Damen offered. Laurent had sat on the end of the bed and now Damen joined him there. 

“We all have our flaws.”

“Laurent, is that blue dress I see hanging there?” 

“Yes.” Laurent, rarely so relaxed, rested his head against Damen's shoulder. 

“Who owns it?”

“Me.” It was only fun to play with Damen like this for a second. “Nicaise was Anna and I was Elsa for Halloween. It was an interesting night.” Damen's eyes were wide, and Laurent so Hallie in him so much, as he smiled broad and wide. 

“Do you have photos? Oh my God, did you come to my complex? I was a gladiator and Hallie was a lion.”

Of course they were. 

“No,” Laurent replied, breathing in the smell of Damen's skin. “Nicaise got spooked. We didn't stay out long. I did, however, have the singular pleasure of overhearing two middle aged cops mistake me for a MILF.” Damen laughed, a low rumble that Laurent felt reverberate through his body too. “Do you have to rush home?” Laurent asked.

“No. Not until morning.”

“I'm going to brush me teeth,” Laurent said. “You can stay, if you want. I did promise you a sleepover and I don't go back on my word.”

While Laurent was brushing (and flossing), Damen had turned off the lights and locked the doors and brought both their phones into the bedroom. That small act made Laurent's chest ache. It was nice, to be looked after for once. Damen brought the wine, too, but Laurent had brushed his teeth and it was mostly a prop, a reason for sitting up against the grey quilted headboard and gazing at each other without most of their clothes on. They talked about places they had been and places they hoped to go and their mutual fear of the kids requesting to go to Disneyworld until Damen set down his wine glass again.

“I won't ask you,” he began. “But I just want to say that you can tell me things.”

“Do I need to tell you to use your words again?” Laurent smiled. He wasn't being rude now, just harping back to their first proper meeting. He was desperately fighting the rising worry in his gut.

“Nicaise brought up your uncle, and you looked like you had seen a ghost,” Damen said. “You mentioned him, too, before.”

“Nothing happened,” Laurent blurted out.

“It's just an offer.”

“No, I need to make that clear. Nicaise was...vulnerable, yes, and neglected and I have no doubt my uncle attached himself to his mother because she was vulnerable too. But I would have gone to the police if he had done anything to him,” Laurent said. “If there was evidence of anything, now, I would have.”

“Good,” Damen said. “Because my next question was if either of you were in danger.”

“No. We are not in need of your protection,” Laurent said, sharply. “I –I just knew, all right? When I came back here I knew I needed to help Nicaise. To give him a chance. He had no-one else. He wasn't like --” He stopped and made the decision to say it. “Me. I had Auguste. He had no-one.”

“You don't have to --”

“I lived with my uncle for less than a year after my father died,” Laurent said. He couldn't believe he was saying these words to someone he barely knew, someone he had once hated. But maybe it just felt good to say them. “Everyone agreed it was for the best. My father trusted him enough to put him in charge of my trust and Auguste was ... young. It was the worst year of my life. I can't explain. I wonder still if I wasn't reading too much into things. Looks. Comments. I used to wish I could disappear inside myself.”

“Did he?” Damen was holding himself very still. Laurent thought it was that he didn't want to touch him but then he realised it was anger carefully contained.

“No. It was nothing....a whole lot of nothings that add up to something. I knew...I knew he paid younger boys. I knew I was...and he knew I liked boys and he used that against me. Videos and planting ideas and --”

“He groomed you,” Damen said. “That's not nothing.”

But Laurent could only focus on the rush of relief that came with Damen knowing that term and using it. He hadn't felt that same clarity since the therapist he saw that year he took out before college explained it to him. 

“I'm all right,” Laurent said. “I need to make that clear.”

“You don't,” Damen said. “Need to make anything clear. I --- thank you for telling me.”

“Just what every guy wants to hear on a first date.”

“I want to know all of you,” Damen said. 

“You are unbearably cheesy.” But Laurent felt light and relaxed enough to kind of snuggle against Damen's side. 

“I'm just going to say one more thing and I'll drop it,” Damen continued, and Laurent felt even lighter because Damen had gauged that this was not what he wished to talk about and respected that. “You know what I do for a living. You must know I have a lot of contacts – ex-police, current police, intelligence officers, etc etc. If you wanted to scare him, or get him locked up for an outstanding traffic warrant, or....” He left the suggestion hanging. “Believe me I would take great joy in making that happen.”

“Stop,” Laurent said. “You're turning me on again.” He didn't want to be serious tonight.

“I mean it.”

“I watched Taken weekly before I went to Europe.” Laurent forced himself to look up at Damen, then. “Thank you,” he said. “For offering. But no, that's not what I want. I just want him out of our lives.”

Wordlessly, Damen pushed some of Laurent's hair out of his face. His expression so caring, there was no need for words. And ordinarily, Laurent would have eschewed anyone who acted like he needed looking after. But with Damen, he didn't mind so much. He thought that Damen would let him look after him too.

Laurent memorised that look, this moment, and saw the exact moment Damen's expression dropped.

“Hi, Nicaise,” he said, as if he had just dropped in for tea.

Laurent startled. He spun around to see Nicaise at the door, eyes blazing, face twisted looking rather like something from a horror movie. Shit. Shit. Shit. This was the opposite of what he wanted right now. Damen, dating, warmth all flew from his mind. He wasn't this kind of parent, let alone this kind of person. Casual dating, not that this felt casual, was so not him. He could count the people who had been in this bed on two fingers (him and Nicaise.) 

That was one thing. But he never ever wanted to expose Nicaise to any kind of adult behaviour. It would have made him too much like his uncle. Bad enough he had already seen them kissing now here they were in bed half-dressed.

Laurent couldn't think. He just looked at Nicaise, frozen, until Nicaise raised his hand as if he was about to let his water cup fly.

“Don't,” Damen said. 

Nicaise lowered his hand. “Laurent, this is not fair! You said...you never said.”

Laurent came back to life and scrambled off the bed to crouch in front of Nicaise. “What's wrong?”

“You said I said I couldn't sleep in your bed any more,” Nicaise said, through tearless sobs. “But you let him in.”

“Nicaise, those things are mutually exclusive and you know it.”

“Laurent,” Damen said. “Modify your words, here.”

“You're too big now.”

“He's the biggest person in the world.”

“Go back to bed, Nicaise,” Damen said. “Your dad and I were hanging out like grown ups do. I'm leaving now. And then your dad is going to go say goodnight to you, all right?”

“No.” Nicaise glowered, but he padded back down to his room anyway. 

“Shit.”

“Laurent, it's fine. Look, I'll take off and --”

“Damen, this is wrong. It was a mistake. He's so little and --” Laurent cut himself off. He couldn't voice the fears because it was disgusting to compare himself to his uncle in any way. But this wasn't appropriate. 

“I don't want you to dump me for what just happened,” Damen said. “But I realise I may be in danger of that by the unsolicited parenting advice I’m about to give you. You won't do that boy any favours by acting like sex and physical contact is taboo. It's normal. It's right that kids should learn about romance and stuff from their parents.” He reacted to something in Laurent's face. “Not like that but...you don't need to worry about being inappropriate.”

“I barely know you,” Laurent said. He was feeling the truth of Damen's words and struggling against admitting his own mistakes. He had stressed certain things too heavily for Nicaise to have stabbed Damen and his daughter in the space of three days. “You're leaving,” he said. Because Damen had happy memories of his parents loving each other, somehow, but he and Laurent were not like that. 

“I'm leaving,” Damen confirmed, dressed now. “But I'm not going anywhere. That's the difference.”

Laurent saw the difference – it would be wrong to let Nicaise who was so young and so vulnerable see a parade of random men in and out of Laurent's bed. But it wasn't wrong, when it was Damen who was kind and safe and so difficult to deter that Laurent believed him when he said he wasn't going anywhere.

“I'd like that,” he said. “I mean--”

“I know what you mean.” The warm smile and the husky voice and Laurent was wondering if Nicaise would fall back to sleep alone. A thud from Nicaise's bedroom. He would not.

“I'll have to pick up my car tomorrow.”

“Maybe Hallie and I could be in the lot at the same time. And maybe we could invite you up for pancakes. I really only know how to cook food that should be eaten before noon.”

“Nicaise likes chocolate chips.”

“Who doesn't?” Damen pressed a quick kiss to Laurent's lips. “Lock this door behind me,” he said. “And listen, I'm pretty handy with a tool belt.”

“Of course you are,” said Laurent. 

“So maybe I could come by again and put locks on your bedroom door.” 

And Laurent assessed the idea, and found it to be a very wise plan indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments are super appreciated. i'm on twitter @ruby__wednesday and tumblr @ruby--wednesday if you want to be friends there.


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